Bright Haloes and Dancing Eyes
by AmberStarling
Summary: A missing secretary and strange, unknown motives. Sherlock doesn't need human contact, he says, and doesn't need female figures in his life either. Well, John (and maybe Mycroft, no one really knows) begs to differ. [One-shot]


**Bright Haloes and Dancing Eyes**

Sherlock Holmes stood in the apartment that he shared with his colleague—John Watson—and stared out the window, looking at everything yet nothing, as was his trademark way. His fingers were steepled under his chin, his gaze soft and thoughtful.

"No!" Sherlock almost shouted and threw his hands down suddenly in disgust. Stepping on and over the coffee table, he made his way to the couch and flung himself head-first onto the soft cushions. He then proceeded to slam his head over and over into the couch, as if that would help him solve his problem.

"What now, Sherlock?" John walked out of the small kitchen, a mug of tea grasped in his hand.

Sherlock, now curled up into a ball on the couch, rocked back and forth without replying. His long fingers twitched slightly. Reaching out, his hand brushed past his violin and he hesitated, before stretching out and grabbing the handgun that lay near the musical instrument.

Cocking the gun, he lifted it, and shot without aiming at all. The bullet tore through the air and slammed into the middle of the yellow circle painted on the opposite wall, causing the wall to vibrate a little with the impact. John, already accustomed to his colleague's weird quirks, ducked slightly as he walked to his seat.

Before Sherlock could cock the gun again, John lifted the cup and took a long drink before asking, "Bored again, are we?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and his voice deepened as he replied, "No, I just need a distraction."

"Yes, because you are bored. Don't you have quite a few cases going on?"

"You are wrong on both counts, John. No, I am _not_ bored. And again, no, I don't. I told Lestrade that I was taking a break."

John did not reply, frowning into his mug of tea instead. As far as he knew, Sherlock had never asked for a break before. On the contrary, Sherlock had told him that he was married to his work and work was all he was planning to do.

When Sherlock showed no sign of answering his unasked question, John put his mug down on the coffee table and asked, "So, aren't you going to tell me why you need a distraction?"

Putting the gun down, Sherlock began to reach for his violin and stopped, pulling his hand back and running both hands over his face.

He groaned quietly and told John, "My brother's _new _secretary has gone missing. According to Mycroft, she was integral to his work and he needs me to find her before she reveals any of the classified information she knows."

"Ah, the last one was fired, as I recall. But you _are_ going to help out, right?"

Sherlock shot John a look, the kind that he was all too familiar with. It was a look that said he was missing something important that Sherlock thought everyone would see.

Sighing in impatience, Sherlock told him, "Mycroft is perfectly able to find his secretary by himself, considering all the resources he has. But why would he want me to get involved?"

John reached for his tea again, drinking it quickly before it went cold. It was rare to see Sherlock this stumped at a problem; apparently his brother was one of the only people that could cause this to happen.

"He gave me a picture of her, told me to stare at it till I found her," Sherlock said and reached out towards John with the folded picture held in between his index and middle fingers.

John took it from him and unfolded the picture. It was of a woman about their age, with hazelnut eyes and a bright halo of red hair. She was in the midst of laughing, her dancing eyes looking past the camera at the photographer, most likely.

Running his hands through his curly hair, Sherlock unfolded his lanky frame from the couch and stood up. He paced in front of the nearest wall. Suddenly he snatched the picture from John's hands and put it against the wall, stabbing a pin into the woman's forehead.

John sighed and waited for the man to snap out of his strange mood. Sherlock ignored everything around him and muttered to himself.

"Maybe she's linked to a criminal organization somehow. She could be spying on Mycroft's plans…"

"Sherlock, stop," John said, standing up and taking the picture off the wall, "really, you're being irrational. Isn't it obvious?"

Sherlock halted in his pacing and looked up. "What?"

"Mycroft is your brother. He's obviously concerned about you. Perhaps he just wants you to swoop in and save the day."

"You're making me into a hero again, John. I am not a knight in shining armor, ever ready to ride my white horse and rescue damsels in distress."

John did not need to look at Sherlock to know that he was rolling his eyes. The skepticism and pessimism was evident in his tone.

But John protested anyway, "That may be what your brother wants in the first place. I mean, think about it, Mycroft knows you very well. He knows that the only way to get you interested in something is if it is related to a crime or problem-solving. He wants you to be happy. What other way to do this than to introduce a female character into your life?"

Sherlock scoffed, "I have enough female characters in my life, John. I have Mrs. Hudson, do I not?"

"Sherlock, there's a difference between a maternal female character and a _female_ character."

"Of course there's a difference! But you do need to remember what happened with _the woman_."

"Says the person that almost doesn't know anything about the solar system." John retorted. "We are men, Sherlock. We need-"

Sherlock interrupted him, "I don't. Unlike you lot," he paused here to wave his hand vaguely, "I don't need much human contact, John."

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he said, "Just find her for your brother. I think that it will do you good."

There was silence after his statement. Sherlock went back to staring out the window, alternating between that and pacing back and forth muttering to himself.

John finished his tea soon after and stood up, planning to put his cup in the kitchen to wash later. Just as he was about to move, his phone beeped and vibrated in his pocket.

Taking it out, he read the message: _Has he agreed to it yet? –Mycroft_

"Don't reply to that," Sherlock said without turning around.

John sighed and deleted the message before putting the phone back into his pocket. Nowadays, he never bothered to ask how Sherlock knew about what he did. There was no point at all, even if John liked to be looked at and talked to as if he was somehow inferior.

Sherlock whipped around abruptly as John re-entered the room. "John, I am going out. Find all the information you can about this… Christi Phillips."


End file.
